The Escape
by Blonde Songbird
Summary: COMPLETE! Is Christine's attempt to escape this madness truly successful, or has she fallen into another trap? "Eleven o' clock tonight, or everyone shall be dead AND buried!"
1. Chapter 1

A/N: All right, so I know I've been sooooo absent lately and am now suddenly posting phics, but things are slowly calming down in my classes, and I've felt so inspired lately! I've been playing around with this idea for a bit, and I hope you enjoy! :) I already have Chapter 2 written, but I'll wait for reviews until I post it ;) Enjoy, loves!

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"Eleven o' clock, or everyone shall be dead _and buried_!"

His voice clawed at her mercilessly, as her heart raced with absolute terror. What did he mean "dead _and_ buried"? How could everyone be dead _and _buried? The girl's frail mind couldn't grasp an answer.

Once at the peak of her singing career, Christine Daae was now a heartbreaking sight. Her blue eyes shined like a pool of blue sorrow, while her petite body trembled with fear. With a flushed face, she scanned the room in desperation, looking for any possible means of escape.

Nothing.

Nothing but stone walls greeted her gaze. The only way out was the door from which Erik had emerged, and even now it seemed as if that door had melted back into the harsh walls; she wasn't even sure of its whereabouts anymore, and the anxiety was rapidly devouring her. The walls were closing in. She couldn't breathe - were her lungs collapsing? No, she was quite sure they weren't, but oh, it felt like it!

Emitting a frustrating shriek, Christine grasped the roots of her curls, wishing nothing more than to rip them out.

She had to escape. She had to leave. She didn't want to die, nor did she wish to be the cause of so many others' demises.

But... was death her only escape? Surely there was another way out! A door - a door - where was that God-forsaken door?

Her wide eyes rested on a spot on the wall. The stone called to her, entreating her to move only a few inches nearer... only a few more. Frantically, she leaned her palms up against the wall. A coldness travelled from her hands, coursing through her body. This was her door - _this_ was her escape. Rearing her head back, she struck the wall harshly with her forehead.

A stabbing pain. Her head began to throb. She could feel the blood trickling down the crevasse of her cheek, as if it were trying to cool her newfound fever. Dizziness. Everything was spinning. Weakly lifting back her head again, she struck the now-red wall with the same spot on her head.

More pain. Her body grew weaker. This headache was far worse than any she had experienced before. She attempted to strike a third blow, but she instead dropped to her knees, her body crumpling against the wall. Her blonde ringlets now streaked with scarlet, everything within her sight blurred. She was so close... so close to successfully escaping this madness.

A sardonic laugh fled from her pale lips, soft and bitter. She had won! She had beaten Erik! _Erik:_ the infamous Phantom of the Opera! He was a magician, composer, architect, ventriloquist - a genius. And she? She was merely a young, orphaned soprano, yet... _she_ was the victorious one! The student had triumphed over the teacher!

The room around her was darkening. Her eyelids were becoming heavy... oh, she was _so close_... A distant figure was suddenly approaching her, dark and unrecognizable. She heard a faint voice - a voice that was familiar to and welcomed by her ears. It was gentle. It was loving. It was filled with worry. It was her Angel of Music!

"Oh, Christine!" It desperately pleaded in the gentlest of tones. "Don't leave me, my dear... Stay with me... Darling Christine, oh, my darling... Why, Christine, why?"

"Angel, I knew you'd come for me..." She whispered softly.

"Oh, what have I done, Christine? I'm so sorry... so sorry..." Distant tears.

"Angel, I've waited so long for you to come for me... but you're finally here..." Her once-ethereal voice was now broken and weak.

A pause. Cool hands brushed away a strand of hair, caressing her cheek. "Everything is going to be all right, Christine. Shhh, I'll never leave you..."

An even more indescribable pain seized her, as she clutched the hand that caressed her. The grip of the hand that comforted her grew tighter, as the Angel's voice still cooed into her ear, "Shhh, my love, shhh..."

"I'm coming, Papa..." She breathed one final time, everything within her collapsing.

With her tiny body curled up in his arms, Erik's grieving tears bitterly mixed with the blood that surrounded them.

And unable to explain why, Christine Daae stood over the two, watching the sorrowful sight.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! I know it's depressing (which is strange because I am the complete opposite of depressing, lol), but I've been thinking about this story idea for a long time! Enjoy :)

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Christine drank in the sight, shock etched in every pale feature. She was looking at... herself... _dying_. How was this possible? With wide eyes, she watched as her body released its last breath. Her gaze gingerly travelled from her body to Erik. His shoulders racked with sobs, as he held her to his chest.

"Oh, my little angel, how could you have done this?" His cries only echoed despairingly. "...How could _I_? All of this... it's _my _fault! How could I have done this to you, Christine?" He moaned in agony, brushing his hand against her icy cheek. "Oh, Christine... you are so pale... and Erik is to blame... Please, return to me! Don't leave this way..."

Tears welled up in the onlooker's eyes, as she tore her stare away; her thoughts began to race, and she found herself drowning in questions.

"Am I dead?" Christine inquired aloud. Timidly turning towards Erik again, she quivered. "Erik? Can... can you hear me?"

He remained where he was, his tears and sole attention still on her lifeless form.

With a sigh, she averted her eyes to the ground. It was then when she noticed that she was no longer in the dress she had previously wore but instead donned in a simple, white gown. Lace trimmed the sleeves and the collar, as it hung off her fragile frame. Her curls rested calmly on her shoulders, no longer soaked with blood.

She needed to get out... to leave... to escape _still_... Turning around, she advanced towards the open door. However, as soon as she stepped into the door's frame, an invisible force seemed to push against her. Her breathing grew more rapid, as she tried to resist the force. Employing all of the strength available in her small body, she moved forwards, but only after a few moments, Christine was thrown backwards. Blinking, she gasped. She was standing in the same spot as before. Nerves racing, she repeated this attempt but was once more thrust into the same position.

"Oh, Christine, an angel shouldn't have to depart the world in such a way..." Erik murmured, still grasping her unmoving body.

Was she an angel? Christine pondered the thought for a moment. No... No, angels lived in heaven, and surely... _this_ was not heaven. Then, what was she? Was she a ghost? And if so, why was her spirit still here? Why hadn't it departed, as souls are said to do?

She dropped to the floor, dazed. She had thought herself free. She was going to be with her Papa again! But that "escape" had only led to this... this entrapment. Why couldn't she leave this place?

"Christine?" A familiar cry rang out. "Christine!"

"Raoul?" The dazed girl breathed.

In her despair, she had forgotten about poor Raoul! How could she have done such a thing? He had ventured here, simply to rescue her, and... Her stare returned to her lifeless body.

"Christine, if you can hear me, please answer me!" Raoul begged, his voice saturated in exhaustion.

"Oh, Raoul! I'm here! I'm here! Please forgive me, dear Raoul! But I am here! Listen! I'm here!" She cried out but only in vain.

"Please, Christine, answer me... Tell me I have found you..." His pleas sounded desperate.

Carefully laying down Christine's body, Erik swallowed, his pained eyes lifted towards the direction of a small window.

"Ah, the Viscomte de Chagny," His silky voice cracked. He remained kneeling for a moment, gradually pulling himself up, as if it pained him to move even an inch. Very slowly, he ascended the stairs, using the railing as his support. When he reached the top, he turned to stare 

at Christine's body once more. Shakily, he removed his mask, for the salty tears were beginning to choke him. Christine winced. Running his hand over his misshapen face, Erik swallowed and tried to control the sobs.

"You monster!" Raoul screamed. "What have you done with Christine?!"

"Erik, let the girl go!" Another voice rang out – one she did not quite recognize.

As if he was being drawn back into reality, Erik tore his eyes away from the haunting sight and replaced his mask. Turning to look through the window, he gasped for air in an attempt to control himself.

"Gentleman, I must inform you... that it is quite rude to intrude into another man's humble abode... without an invitation," Erik retorted, swallowing back tears, as anger began to visibly rise within him.

"Erik! Let us out of here," The unfamiliar voice said, "Where is the girl?"

He stifled another sob. "Dear Daroga, you were always too inquisitive for your own good."

"Christine? Christine!" Raoul yelled her name again, hoping that maybe she would answer his pleas with reassurance.

"STOP," Erik suddenly roared, "Calling for her!" Slumping to the floor, he buried his face in the palm of his hands.

"Erik..." The Daroga began, his voice extremely cautious.

Ignoring the Daroga, Erik stood up and returned to Christine's body, tenderly picking her up. As he walked out of the door, Christine felt herself being pulled with his movement, Raoul's yells and the Daroga's questions trailing behind her. Following him, she watched as he carefully laid the body in Christine's former bed. He trembled and swept the stained curls from her face, 

pulling the covers up to her shoulders. Pressing a soft, longing kiss to her forehead, Erik slowly retreated, his eyes never leaving her until the door was closed.

Christine was overcome with curiosity, but as she watched the man whom she had come to know this past year, her face fell. It seems that she did not know him quite as well as she believed she had. Now, as she observed him, she did felt neither fear nor pity, as she quite often had in the past. Instead, she was only ridden with guilt.

They returned to the room adjacent to the torture chamber, where the men on the other side of the wall continued to call out to both Erik and Christine. Their voices were by now hoarse but unrelenting. Erik climbed to where the window was, and Christine quietly followed, peering through the glass.

Raoul and another, darker-skinned man she did not know were standing in the middle of a forest!

"How do you like the landscape, gentleman?" Erik inquired, the odd tone of his voice causing her to turn to look at him. His eyes were now dry but seemed to have lost all life within them.

"Erik! Let us out of here at once! I saved your life once!" The Daroga exclaimed.

"Do hush, Daroga. You tire me. You may have saved my life once, but you continue to stupidly put yourself in danger." The Phantom replied with a husky voice, flipping a switch. "It is a beautiful forest, is it not?"

Raoul had begun to sweat profusely, shredding his jacket, as his companion did the same.

"Oh, Viscomte, have you grown hot?" Erik asked with his twisted lips. His fingertips brushed against the wall. "I daresay, it does feel rather warm in here."

Christine lifted her eyebrows, as she stared intensely. She could feel no heat, but then again, she could not feel anything at all.

"Oh, Daroga... Viscomte... I do hope neither of you object... to _African forests_," He continued, his voice dry. He did not smirk, nor laugh. He merely watched.

With a sharp gasp, Christine shrieked, "No! Raoul!" Turning to Erik, she sobbed. "Please, Erik, don't kill them! Please! Please hear me... _Please_!"

Erik furrowed his brow, still facing the window but not quite looking through it. His yellow eyes were blank, as if searching for something. Suddenly, he flipped the switch again, abruptly turning to where Christine lingered. For a moment, she thought he could see her, but his eyes seemed to look directly through her.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you for the kind reviews! I cannot tell you how incredibly... strange this is for me to write something so... morbid and... dramatic? But I am terribly excited because I actually _know_ how I want it to end! I have it all planned out! ...Which is usually something I don't have, lol. So, please read, enjoy, and review :)

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Christine held her breath, as Erik's stare remained on the spot where she stood. His yellow eyes held an intensity that still shook her even in death. After the moment of silence, he slowly turned to look through the window again. She followed his gaze, her wide eyes settling on Raoul and the Daroga. With heavy breathing and half-open eyelids, Raoul was now on his knees, reveling in and out of consciousness. The Daroga, whose skin was normally as dark as the evening sky, was almost as pale as his companion. The latter, however, still had his feet firmly planted on the ground beneath him.

"Daroga," Erik suddenly said, his voice dark, "Take a few steps forward. Bring the whimpering Viscomte with you."

Turning on his heel, the phantom descended the stairs and opened a door that she had never previously noticed. With Raoul's arm around his shoulder, the Daroga staggered into the room and gasped for air. Erik only watched the two, making no move to help them in any way.

"Drop the fool, Nadir." He impassively told the man, revealing his name for the first time to the girl.

Confusion etched in his features, Nadir gently placed the half-conscious Raoul on the floor. Christine ran to his side and leaned over the boy, unseen by the others.

"Raoul…" She whispered with relief. "Dear Raoul, I'm here… I'm here… I'm so sorry, darling…"

"Go home, Nadir." Erik stated plainly, breaking Christine's concentration on her beloved.

"What?" Nadir replied, still partially out of breath from his near-death experience. "Erik, where is the girl? What have you done with Christine Daae?"

At the sound of her name, Erik jerked his head and clutched his hands into a fist. He remained silent for quite some time, and his stare never left the ground.

"She is lying down in her bedroom," He answered at last. His voice was hoarse and seemed to be on the verge of breaking. "Do not disturb her."

Erik's tone was deadly to Christine, but it was a tone that Nadir knew all too well.

"What have you done to her, Erik?" He repeated the question in a low voice, his eyes locked on his friend's masked face.

"I have done _nothing_ to her!" Erik abruptly hissed, venom seeping out of every word that left his twisted lips. "I would never harm a hair on her head! How _dare _you think otherwise, Daroga!"

"Erik, I –"

"NO! I should not have released you from the torture chamber. You may have saved my life _once_, Nadir, but I have saved yours more than I should have allowed myself!" He was now shaking from the anger, the flames in his eyes growing brighter and more dangerous. "This is the last time Erik will spare you, my _friend_. I suggest you leave… now."

Swallowing, his friend took two steps backward before advancing towards Raoul.

"Leave the boy!" Erik bellowed.

Nadir only stared at the furious man but did not dare to speak a word.

"I won't keep him here," He answered Nadir's silent question, "I'll let him go."

With a curt nod, the Persian gravely looked at Raoul once more before quickly exiting the underground home. After he had gone, Erik moved towards the Viscomte, roughly grasping his arms and flinging him over his shoulders. Worry consumed Christine, as she felt herself being pulled with Erik's movement.

He left the house and approached the boat – the boat that symbolized so many past voyages for Christine. She could not help wonder, however, how the Persian had escaped if the boat remained there waiting for its master. As Erik carelessly dropped Raoul's body in the boat, Christine emitted a cry and crawled in after them, her attention focused on the unconscious Viscomte. The boat began to move, and the girl's eyes wandered up to its rower. The flames in his eyes had now died, leaving only empty hollows which no emotion seemed to be able to reach. Every stroke Erik made with the paddle seemed to be a painful burden; when they reached the other side of the lake, a soft sigh escaped his lips, as he let go of the paddle and left it lying in the boat. Picking up Raoul once again, Erik grunted from his weight, which had suddenly just now made itself apparent. Christine followed them, glancing about every so often at the darkness that began to envelop the three. They began to approach the steps; however, panic arose within her when Erik walked right past them.

"Erik…" She began, her voice extremely dry, "Where are you taking him? Why are you not taking him back up?"

He, of course, did not hear the poor girl's inquiries and continued to trudge through the catacombs. After a couple of hours, he finally came to a halt. Christine looked around her, greeted by the damp walls and the dark atmosphere. Why were they stopping here?

Raoul groaned and began to stir, causing Erik's tired eyes to dart towards him. Moving very quickly, Erik retrieved thick rope from his pocket and began to tie Raoul to a bar that hung from the low ceiling. Christine cried out and raced towards them, terror seizing her petite body.

"What are you doing, Erik??" She questioned fervently, her voice cracking from the stress. "You said you would let him go! Let him go, Erik! _Let him go_!"

The man did not cease his movements but instead made the bonds tighter on Raoul's wrists.

"Where I am I…?" The Viscomte suddenly mumbled, his eyelids opening, little by little. "Where is Christine? Christine?"

"Hush up, boy." Erik stated lamely, finishing tying Raoul to the point where he could barely move.

"_You_…" Raoul began, growing more aware of his surroundings. Anger lingered behind his voice and gradually became more evident. "You… you… _monster_… What are you doing? Let me go! Where is Christine?"

"Christine is none of your concern, Viscomte." Erik replied. His tone was perilous, but Raoul did not take notice of the danger.

"She _is_ my concern!" He began to yell. "Let her go! She doesn't belong to you! She doesn't love you! She deserves to be free! She is not your prisoner. You don't love her –"

Rapidly clenching his slender fingers around Raoul's throat, Erik's grip only continued to grow tighter. "I would not rave about things of which you know nothing about!"

Christine watched on in terror, thrusting herself at them in a pathetic attempt to stop this – yet she merely fell… _through_ them. Confused, the poor girl went towards them again, only to find herself walking through them. Frustration dominated Christine. Wasn't this cliché? Walking _through_ people?

_How ridiculous!_ She thought to herself. Ridiculous, yes, and terribly unfair. Why would she be forced to remain here, able to hear and see everything that was occurring, yet entirely unable to _do_ anything about it?

Raoul choked, his face now flushed and his eyes large. His lips moved in fruitless attempts to speak, but Erik's unyielding grip saw to it that no words would escape. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Christine, he released the Viscomte's neck. A cry of relief fled from Christine's pale lips, and she rushed towards Raoul.

Erik slowly began to retreat back into the darkness, away from Raoul and obviously with no concern for his potential demise.

"You coward!" Raoul screamed after him, "Release me! Fight me like a man! Kill me even, if you must, but let Christine go!"

Christine's tearful eyes turned to watch Erik leave, fear beginning to consume her. No! No! She would not leave Raoul! She would not be taken from here! Holding her breath, she expected to be forcefully pulled with Erik's movement. She trembled and locked her gaze on Raoul's worried features, anticipating that it would be the last time she saw him.

Yet nothing happened. She did not move. She was not pulled from this spot. Turning around, she expected that Erik must still be standing there.

But he was not. He had gone.

How was it that she still stood here… if Erik was already venturing back to his home?

"Oh, Christine…" Raoul whimpered, bringing Christine's ponderings to a halt.

She reached to brush away one of his golden curls, but her hand felt nothing. The curl remained in its place, as blatantly unaware of her attempt as Raoul was of her presence.

"Oh, dear Raoul, I'm here… I'm here… I'm so sorry… so very sorry…" Broken apologies were all she seemed to be able to murmur.

Guilt. She was drowning in guilt. _She _was the reason he was trapped here. Perhaps… perhaps… perhaps if she was still living, she would have been able to save him, or… distract Erik… or something – something that would have prevented _this_.

It had been a week. At least, she thought it had been a week. It might have only been a few days… Perhaps three? But she was completely unsure. Throughout this time, the only two people in the world that existed were Raoul and Christine. With each passing moment, Raoul grew consistently weaker. Without food or water, what else could his body do but slowly shut down and dwindle into nothing?

His blue eyes were dim and dry, as if he had cried more tears than his dying body could produce. His cheeks were sunken in, and the only words he spoke were loving words to Christine. Of course, his head told him that she could not hear him, but in his heart, the poor boy believed that she could.

And he was right.

Christine had never left his side. The truth was that it was physically impossible for her to leave him, yet she had not even tried. And even though he was unaware of her replies, Christine continued to speak to him tenderly as if he could hear her.

This day, however, seemed to be different than the others. Although he had been fading, today it seemed as if he had reached the end and could deteriorate no more.

Little gasps of breath came from the Viscomte, as Christine stood by him in despair.

"Oh, Raoul… Don't go… I'm so sorry! I love you so much, Raoul! I –"

Her weeping was cut off when Raoul's eyes widened, and his body began to convulse. Horrified, Christine reached out to him, longing to be able to embrace him – just this once – just one more time… before… before…

"Christine…" He whispered, his eyes directly attached to hers.

And then, the Viscomte Raoul de Chagny died in the catacombs of the Opera Populaire, his final thoughts wrapped around his dear Christine.

A/N: All right... before I get flames saying, "Wtf?! Why are killing off everybody?! ARGH!", I would just like to say that trust me and don't let this keep you from continuing to read this phic! :)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you for the revieeeews! To y'all, I give virtual cookies. :D After this, there's only one, last, long chapter left! Eek, I'm terribly excited, and I hope you enjoy!! Oh, and if you would be so kind, spread this phic around to fellow phriends! I would be ever so appreciative :) Oh, and if there are any formatting errors, please forgive me. The format messes up a bit once I upload it to ffnet, but I tried to fix all of it :)

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Christine only stood there, her eyes never leaving the sight of her poor Raoul. Heavy tears rested on the brim of her eyes, and they glazed over with a distance that made her appear as if she was far away… far away from this place, this tragedy, this moment.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the sight of Erik slowly walking towards the Viscomte. She had been so distraught that she had not even heard him approach the area. He reached towards Raoul, pressing two fingers to his neck.

"No!" She cried out, "Don't touch him! Leave him be!"

As if he had decided something silently, Erik nodded to himself and withdrew his hand, lifting an eyebrow.

"Farewell, Monsieur." He stated quietly, no emotion behind his words. His words were as dry as the African forest in which Raoul had been previously trapped.

Turning around, he retreated from the area, his movement suddenly beginning to pull Christine.

"No!" She exclaimed with wide eyes. "I won't leave him here! Stop! No!"

But her entreats remained unheard and cast aside.

Her gaze finding Raoul's body, Christine looked after him longingly, as his form began to grow smaller and smaller. She was helpless to resist this force and could do nothing but quit resisting it. Instead, she relished the last sights of her childhood sweetheart whom she'd never see again.

Before she knew it, she found herself in the boat once again and could not even bring herself to look at its master. Hatred for him welled up deep within her, bursting forth through her now-dull eyes. He had killed him. He had tied Raoul up and left him there to die. Her cheeks few hot, while the girl's eyes never left the glimmering water beneath them. Oh, how she hated him! Every fiber of her being ached with fury.

But in a way… hadn't she been responsible for his death? Didn't her death trigger this? If she had been alive, she at least could have…

Newfound tears trailed her cheeks, as the girl tried to push those thoughts from her mind, yet they only continued to return. Her troubling thoughts were soon interrupted when the boat hit the end of the bank. But this is not what truly had cut through her thoughts. She was staring at something else… something that had begun to slowly protrude from the water…

A hand.

It had such a dark complexion that, at first, Christine did not see it. The fingers, however, were clear, and there was no way anyone could have mistaken them for anything else but the fingers of a victim reaching for salvation.

Her head whipped to look at Erik, wondering if he too had seen it. And indeed he had. His yellow eyes were resting on the hand, and for a brief moment, she could have sworn she saw the slightest sparkle of remorse and perhaps even… a tear? But seeing as none escaped his eye, she wasn't quite sure.

"Oh, Daroga…" He sighed; his words were soft yet weighed down with something she couldn't quite identify. "I told you that that was the last time Erik would save you… and now you have fallen into the siren's trap." He stepped out of the boat, solemnly looking back down at the hand before tearing his eyes away one last time.

Although Christine was forced to follow Erik, her eyes did not tear away from the sight so quickly. It had been only a few days… only a few days since she had seen that man… and Erik had released him from the lair. She then remembered the boat still sitting on the bank when Erik had first ventured out with Raoul… Had the Persian already sunk to his demise by then?

First, she was trapped – trapped in this never-ending cycle of torment. Then, poor Raoul – and now the Daroga? It was as if death surrounded her and tainted everything she did or loved. She needed to get out still – she needed an escape – she needed to know why she was here and what it would take for her to finally leave – forever!

She found herself standing in Erik's familiar home again.

With a shriek, she angrily stomped her foot and spun around in a desperate search for an answer. She didn't want to be here! She did not want to be in this house! Had she not emphasized that in her last moments on earth? And yet… she no longer wished she were dead. Oh, how she longed to be alive again – how she regretted her last moments! Wasn't there a way? A way to take it all back? There had to be…

A crash broke her concentration. She looked up to find Erik standing over a shattered lamp. In a rage, he rushed towards the piano and furiously thrust various sheet music to the floor. The notes on the pages seemed despondent and lonely now, as if they mourned the fact that they would never be introduced to human ears. He had paused for a moment, staring intently at his score of _Don Juan Triumphant_. In a swift moment, he callously grabbed the composition and threw it into the fireplace. She watched him carefully; as the flames reflected in his eyes, she could see the remaining portion of his soul dying with his music. The other half of his soul had died with Christine. Turning towards the fire, her eyes drank in the sight of the blazing music. Erik's cryptic words echoed in her head – they sounded so distant… as if they had been spoken so long ago…

"My _Don Juan_ burns, Christine; and yet it is not struck with fire from heaven."

With his eyes still focused on his burning music, Erik winced. Just as the music crumpled under the flames, his soul was crumpling into nothing. He slowly turned his back on the fire and approached his own room. During her lifetime, Christine had barely been in his room. To be perfectly honest, it had always frightened her. The walls were black, with the exception of a few candles that were rarely lit, and in the middle sat a coffin. No doubt it was _this_ factor that scared her the most.

He reached into that dreaded coffin and retrieved a bottle of some type, but from where, she hadn't the slightest clue. That had been common during their time together. He had always produced something, out of thin air it had seemed, and the mystery had never been lost. It was rather humorous – in a morbid way – that even in her death and his misery, the mystery and enchantment remained. After he left his room, Erik went to the Louise-Philippe room with heavy steps, closing its door with a strange finality.

Erik now stood over her body, fresh tears plummeting to the soft fabric of her bed sheets. He moaned and fell to his knees before her bed. Suddenly, Christine felt a slight coldness wrap itself around her hand, and she looked up to see Erik's skeletal hands resting on her lifeless ones. She stretched her fingers, still able to feel the chilliness. She was not sure how it was even remotely possible, but she did know that she felt it.

"Forgive me, my love…" He groaned, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. She did not feel the brush of his lips, much to her confusion and… disappointment, was it? "Please, forgive me… Oh, my angel, I shall miss you so… but the choirs of heaven will be most fortunate to have gained your sweet voice…"

She didn't even realize that she had been holding her breath. She only listened, trying to catch every whisper – every murmur of regret and pain.

"But I will never hear your voice again, dear Christine… because sacred angels do not sing where Erik is going…"

Confusion overwhelmed the girl. Where was he going?

Taking the bottle he had retrieved from his coffin, Erik shakily opened it and brought it to his twisted lips. The realization dawned on Christine, and she dashed to his side.

"No! Erik! No!" She screamed, waving her arms through him frantically. "Stop, Erik! _Stop_!"

Taking no heed of her cries, the liquid reached his lips and travelled down his throat. Christine's pleas came to a halt, as she watched on with terrified eyes. No! Not another one… not like this… no more! Please, no, not Erik… no… _no_…

He began to cough, dropping the now-empty bottle to the floor and blindly clasping for Christine's lifeless hand again. He clutched her hand to his chest, and his eyes grew wide. With his other hand, he held his mask to his face, assuring that it would not fall. It was curious that despite the fact he was about to die, he still did not wish his face to be exposed. Perhaps he did not wish to frighten Christine even in death. A small trickle of blood emerged from the corner of his mouth. Bringing her hand to her mouth, Christine's body trembled, and she had to look away. After a few moments, she began to turn back around in dread.

It was a horrifically sad sight. Christine's body still laid there, her hand gripped by Erik's. His body was bent over the bed, limp and nonresponsive, but he still clung to Christine – the girl he would continue to love throughout eternity, even though they would be worlds away.

Christine felt herself being pulled back… away from this sight, away from the Louise-Philippe room, and away from Erik… She was being pulled into his room… Her eyes darted around wildly, like a caged animal, and she realized where she was headed… The coffin.

She began to reach for anything… anything that would stop this… anything that would keep her from that horror – that death box. She felt herself being pushed down into open coffin, and shrieks began to fill the silent room. She screeched and screeched but to no avail. Raoul was not there to save her. Erik was not there to save her. No one could help her. Her head rested on the cushion, as her curls framed her fair face, which was now streaked with dismayed tears.

"No! No!" She screamed helplessly. "Please! Please! _No! Please!_" She was begging now, begging anyone that would listen.

The casket was closing now, but by whom? Who was shutting the lid?

"NO!" She shrieked one last time, as the lid finally shut.

Darkness. Silence. Nothing.


	5. The End

A/N: YAY! It's the last chapter! So, I know that some lines in here will sound familiar... as they should, for they come from our dear Gaston Leroux! Thank you for reading and reviewing this story, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :) Please, do leave a review after you're done! I would love to know your thoughts, and hopefully I'll have a new phic coming soon! Much love to you all :)

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In panic, Christine opened her eyes and screamed. Light. Light gushed into her sight, almost blinding her – it was such a sharp contrast from the dark in which she had just been immersed. Was she in heaven? Had her soul finally departed? Blinking, her surroundings began to come into focus, and her head began to throb instantly. She went to lift her hand to it, but she could not move. Confused, Christine looked down to find herself strapped in a chair. Her eyes wandered to the blood-stained wall across the room. Before she could even begin to form silent inquiries, a door swung open, and Erik stormed in.

"Ah, my dear, you're awake," He stated calmly, although the anxiety in his eyes betrayed him. Approaching her, he gently lifted her chin and examined her forehead, which she realized he had cleaned. "Does your head hurt?"

"Yes," She whispered and nodded meekly. She still couldn't grasp the situation. Only mere moments ago, he had been lying over her, dead from poison…

"Well, nothing less is to be expected when one hits their head on a stone wall, my dear." He said rather coldly.

She felt her cheeks grow warm, and she averted her eyes elsewhere.

"Erik –"

"This delay does not, however, change the decision you still have yet to make, my dear."

"W-what?" Christine stammered and slowly lifted her eyes to meet his.

"I will not prolong your decision time, Christine," His stare bore into her.

"Erik, please…" She began, quivering. Fretful tears approached her eyes, and she felt a lump growing in her throat.

"I'm not one for beggars, Christine," He cut her off, his voice grave. "You are the only one who can choose, my dear. No one else. The lives of so many await your decision."

"But, Erik –"

His patience rapidly dissolved, and his voice boomed, startling the poor girl. "You must make your choice! The wedding mass or the requiem mass!"

The tears that had been threatening to spill did so and quite quickly. She moaned, she struggled, she sobbed – but nothing would release her. And Erik only watched her, his eyes sharply taking in every movement – every sound she made.

"The requiem mass is not at all gay, my dear," Erik spoke gently but with rising excitement, "whereas the wedding mass is magnificent! Oh, I swear it, Christine! You must decide, my love – decide! Or I will decide for you. _Don Juan Triumphant_ is finally complete, my dear, and now I merely wish to live like everyone else."

At the mention of _Don Juan_, an image of the scorched music flashed through her mind.

"I have a mask, Christine, a mask that makes me look like everyone else!" He exclaimed, rushing towards her and brushing his knuckles tenderly against her cheek. "I want to have a wife like everybody else – a wife to take out on Sundays. You will be happy, I swear it, Christine! Oh, my dear, we can sing all day together until the world can no longer bear such beauty! Just love me, Christine! Love me, and you shall see… I would be as gentle as a lamb if you would only love me," His voice grew soft, as her tears rested on his fingertips. He brought them up to his lips and tasted their saltiness. "You are crying, but you do not need to fear me, Christine – you only need to love me, and you shall be the happiest woman in the world…"

She only cried in response. That was all she seemed to be able to do. Her eyes shimmered with bewilderment and anguish – she still did not understand how she was here. Had everything else been false? Had it been a cruel joke? Surely, God wasn't so cruel… Had she suffered through that for nothing – to suffer through utter despair only to simply return to this madness?

Withdrawing his hand from her face, he cried: "You don't love me! You don't love me! You don't love me!"

At this, she only sobbed harder.

He hurried towards her, stroking her golden curls. "Why do you cry, my dear? You know it pains me to see you cry…"

From outside, the bell by the lake rang, and the shrill noise shattered the air.

"Somebody's ringing!" He chuckled, a dark chuckle that made Christine's skin crawl. "Wait for me here, my dear… I am going to tell the _siren_ to open the door…"

The siren… the siren… She remembered the hand of the "siren's" victim… She shuddered.

Suddenly, a voice called to her.

"Christine!"

Raoul!

"Raoul?" She whispered, shaking as her gaze travelled instinctively towards the small window.

"Yes, Christine! I'm here – we're here!"

That's when an additional voice chimed in. "Christine! Yes, we're here to save you, but be cautious – we don't have much time! We are in the torture chamber, Mademoiselle! We're just beyond the wall –"

"Yes, I know," She cut in softly, her eyes still lingering on the window.

"Look around! There must be a key, Christine!" The Persian's voice continued. "Do you see it?"

A sigh fled from her pallid lips. She knew where it was; it hung directly above his organ.

"I know where it is, but…" She struggled with the ropes again, sobbing, "But he's bound so tight… I cannot move an inch! Oh, the wretch!"

"Calm down, Mademoiselle," He said in an attempt to soothe her, but his voice was ridden with anxiety as well. "He knows you can't escape from this place. Why did he fasten you?"

Swallowing back another sob, she bit her lip. "I... I… I tried to kill myself." Christine stammered. _I thought I was dead_. "He found me and… tied me to this chair… I suppose, so I could not try it again."

At this answer, a sob that sounded like Raoul's resounded in the torture chamber. "Oh, Christine!"

"Mademoiselle, he will unbind you – do not forget that he loves you! You must remember that."

"This is something I could never forget…" She murmured tearfully, leaning her head backwards.

A noise outside the room caught her attention, and she gasped. "Hush! He's coming! Hush!"

Silence.

And then, Erik entered the room, his black clothes drenched with water.

"Forgive my appearance, my dear… It's the caller's fault! I do not ask for visitors, my dear, you know this…" He paused at the sight of the tears still streaming down her cheeks. "What is the matter, Christine?"

"I… I'm in pain, Erik!" She replied half-truthfully and indicating the rope. "Unloose my bonds, Erik, please…"

His eyes travelled from her to the red spot on the wall to her again. Lifting an eyebrow, he spoke quietly, "You will try to kill yourself again, my dear."

Frustration overwhelmed her petite body, and she chewed on her lip. "You have given me till eleven o'clock tomorrow evening to die, Erik."

He was silent for a moment, but then he moved towards her and gingerly began to untie the ropes that kept her fastened to the chair. At this, relief coursed through her. Seeing the red marks on her wrists from the bonds, he lifted her arm to his lips, pressing a kiss to it. "Oh, Christine, I did not mean to hurt you… You are so fragile… I must never forget that."

Shivering at his touch, she rose from the chair, and watched as he backed away. She faintly heard him mutter something about a requiem for the lost visitor who rang at the door earlier. But her thoughts were only on the key… the key that would stop this madness – that would release Raoul and the Persian… that would save them from this horror.

His powerful music filled the room, swarming around her aching head and wrapping around her soul. She could feel her trembling body respond to the notes, pulling her towards it and away from the key… No! _No_! She mustn't be distracted… She had to acquire the key…Her frail hands grasped it, the bronze object cold in her shaking hands, and she began to move towards the torture chamber – the window. However, the intoxicating music came to an abrupt halt. Swirling around, she hid the key behind her back and watched as Erik's figure turned from the empty spot on the wall where the key had once been and to her shivering form.

"What have you done with the key? Give me back my key! Is this the true reason you wanted me to release you, Christine?" The anger in his voice was rising quickly, and the girl desperately tried to think of an answer. She backed away, tripping on her own feet and catching herself with the wall.

"Why are you running away? Give me back the key! That is the key of life and death, Christine…"

At this, she stopped her frantic movements and could only stare at him. What did he mean – of life and death? Could he possibly know that the two men hid on the other side of the wall?

"Please, Erik! I… I only wish to look at this room here! I've never seen it, for you've always hidden it from me…" She paused and attempted a weary smile, trying to employ her theatrical skills. "It is a woman's curiosity!"

"I don't like curious women," Came his sharp reply. "And you had better remember the story of _Blue-Beard_ and be cautious, my dear… Be quite cautious or perhaps that room you wish to see will be filled with horrors beyond your imagination."

Neither of them moved. The phantom watched the ingénue very carefully before swiftly approaching her. "Give me back my key… you inquisitive little thing, you!" Chuckling, he reached his arms around her waist and pulled her close against his body. Wide-eyed Christine could only stare up at his eyes and forget about the key, just for a moment…

Suddenly, he had wrenched the key from her hands and had moved away from her as quickly as he had approached. Then, something dreadful happened.

Raoul uttered a sound of contempt.

And Erik had heard it.

Both of them stared at one another, the atmosphere continuously growing with tension.

His eyebrow lifted behind the mask. "What was that, Christine?" Her breathing accelerated. "I thought I heard a cry, my dear…"

"I-I heard nothing, Erik! There's no one here! _I _cried out because you hurt me…" Her voice trailed off, as he slowly walked towards her. She began to wring her hands, and the next question came out in a dreaded whisper, "Who else do you expect would cry out?"

He was now inches away from her face. She could feel his breath passing over her, and his hands tightly grasped hers as to stop their constant movement. "I don't quite like the way you said that, Christine… You're trembling… You know, your talent for singing is far greater than your talent for lying…"

He leaned even closer, and his lips brushed against her ear. "I think there is someone within the torture chamber, my dear…"

"No!" She cried out, giving herself away. "There is no one there, Erik! No one!"

"Perhaps your beloved fiancé?"

"No, Erik!"

"Well, no matter, he won't be your fiancé for long…"

"…What do you mean, Erik? Oh, I'll do anything you wish, but please say you won't harm him! Say it if you love me, Erik! Say that you won't hurt Raoul!" Her panic was growing at an alarming rate. No, no… he could not die… again.

"Ah, so he _is_ in there, is he, Christine?" Erik smirked and stood there, towering over the girl menacingly.

"N-no," She stuttered. Her heart was pounding… Faster and faster… It felt as if it was going to explode… She could hear its dull thuds loudly in her ears, and suddenly her head was aching again…

"Lying doesn't become you, my dear." He stated flatly before moving towards the small window that Christine had come to dread. "I would like to show you something, my love."

She emitted a small shriek and ran towards him, stumbling over her hasty words. "No, Erik! I don't want to look through the window! I don't like forests! I –"

He turned to her, and for once, his emotions betrayed him. She could see the startled look in his eyes, as if he was wondering how she could have possibly known about the forest. Nonetheless, this did not delay him for long; reaching up, he hurriedly flipped the switch, and she instantly placed her hands on the wall. It was growing warm. Warmer… warmer… now, it was hot…

"No! Erik, please! I'll do anything, I swear it!"

He roughly grasped her tiny wrists and began to drag her into the Louise-Philippe room, away from the incessant yells of Raoul and Nadir. She cried and continued to beg him, but he ignored her… it was as if her pleas would always be useless, whether she was alive or dead. Throwing her at two ebony caskets that lay on the mantelpiece, he opened them with the key she had attempted to steal earlier. Inside the caskets sat a bronze scorpion and a bronze grasshopper.

"They are your answers, Christine," His eyes had never left her tear-streaked face.

"W-what? My… answers?" She echoed him dumbly, looking back at the figurines in confusion.

"Yes, your answers, my dear," He was calm, and this alone was unnerving. "If you turn the scorpion round, that will mean that you have said yes… But if you turn the grasshopper, that means you will have said no."

Her brows knitted together, as her fingers traced the outline of the box, not quite daring to touch the figurines for fear of making a premature decision. "My answer to what?"

"Why, my proposal, of course," He answered so seriously that it caused her to turn to look at him. His deformed lips curled into twisted smile. "But do be careful, my dear… The grasshopper does not only turn – it hops! It hops jolly high!" At this, he began to laugh a terrible laugh that made her want to close off her ears to the world.

And with that, he left the room.

The Persian's voice suddenly rang throughout the house. "Christine! Where are you?"

His question slowly registering, she continued to trace the outline of the box. "B-by the scorpion."

"_Don't touch it_!"

His warning caused the girl to sharply pull her hands back and wrap her arm around her shoulders.

A sound… Erik… Erik was back.

"I see you have not touched the scorpion… nor have you turned the grasshopper," He remarked quietly, his graceful fingers caressing the grasshopper. "You only have two minutes, my dear… Then, everyone shall be dead _and _buried!"

Her face was flushed, and she felt as if she was going to faint… Dead and buried… Dead _and _buried… She had been dead once… and almost buried… in that coffin… Oh, that horrible coffin…

"Christine!" His voice startled her. "The two minutes are past, my love… It is time for the grasshopper to hop as high as the gods permit him!"

"No!" Christine yelped and stopped his hand from reaching for the figurine. "Do you swear to me, Erik, that the scorpion is the one to turn?"

"Yes, to hop at our wedding," His replies were always so vague – so cryptic.

"Ah!" She exclaimed, tremors shooting through her limbs. "You said to hop!"

"At our _wedding_, ingenious child!" He exclaimed back at me with even more enthusiasm. When she did not move, he exhaled very slowly and then rushed towards her, holding her tightly against the wall with his body. "Choose, Christine, you must decide… You must choose…" His voice that was usually so entrancing was now a hiss in her ear, "There is no other way, Christine, the only way out is to choose…" Tracing the outline of her lips with his cold fingers, his hand moved across her cheek and rested in her ringlets. Erik's lips were not even an inch away from hers. It seemed like an eternity before he spoke. "But if you will not have the scorpion, then I shall turn the grasshopper!"

"Erik!" The Persian began to call out.

The Angel of Death pushed away from Christine and bellowed in the direction of the torture chamber, "Hush, Daroga! This choice lies with Mademoiselle Daae and her alone!"

The horrifying images of Raoul hanging limply in the catacombs… the hand floating in the water… Erik lying over her body… They were all flashing through her mind, making it so it was difficult for her to discern rational thought. The hand… the siren… Erik… the poison… She had rejected him with her death then; if she rejected him now, no doubt everything would still end in their deaths… no doubt they would all vanish, each soul fleeing to their respective dwellings… and she? Would she return here? In this home? For all eternity?

Raoul's and the Persian's cries entered her thoughts, as they begged Erik to end this – to stop this torture. Erik's eyes blazed in front of her, and he angrily roared for them to be quiet… that this was _her _decision… and her decision _only_… Her decision… or everyone would be dead _and _buried…. Her eyes found the clock – it was eleven o' two precisely… dead _and _buried… she had to decide… She heard a distant ringing… Was that the siren? Would the siren bring them all to their doom? No, no, the siren could not kill _and_ bury them all… unless it was a watery grave…

_Oh, Christine, decide, decide!_ The figurines of the insects seemed to chant cruelly. _Choose me!_ They both pleaded with her, and the insanity and alarm rapidly rose within her.

_Dead and buried_… She knew what she had to do and amidst the chaos, she found her feeble voice, which was suddenly filled with a strength she did not recognize:

"Erik! I have turned the scorpion!"

FINIS.


End file.
